“Hey Alex, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to bring that in here,” said Devin Booker, looking around urgently to see if any team employees had seen the bottle of vodka that Alex Len held in his hand.
“Don’t care,” Alex said simply. “We sucking the dicks right now. Need something to lift spirits.” He chugged a large amount of the clear liquor and grimaced.
“It doesn’t seem to be working. You look as sad as ever,” Devin observed, although he was obviously still nervous about them being seen, as he continued to monitor who was coming in and out of the locker room.
Alex took another large swig while his teammate talked. “No, just drunk. If you let me keep drinking, maybe I forget about bad record. Maybe I punch Al Horford after foul. Fans need entertainings.” He looked at the Cyrillic-lettered bottle with wide eyes, as if he had just realized something. Then, he held it out to Devin. “Want drink?”
Devin shook his head. “Can’t. I’m only nineteen, remember?”
Taking the bottle back, Alex said, “Americans have stupidest rules. In Ukraine children drinking vodka in schools.” He began to slump to the side of his chair, clearly losing his sense of balance.
“Maybe that’s enough,” Devin fretted, noticing his teammate’s advanced drunkenness. “Somebody’s definitely going to notice if you keep this up.”
“Don’t care,” Alex repeated. “Maybe drunk Alex carry team to win with new confidence he is possessing. Do you think Archie want some?”
Devin shrugged. “Probably not.”
Standing up and stumbling a little, Alex replied, “I’ll find out. Premium Ukrainian vodka just what he needing to have good game!”